You Know Where I Live
by pinkskyline
Summary: "If you want in on all of this," Mickey paused and gestured to his head and body, his expression slightly droll, then continued, "Then you know where I live."


"Ian? Come on, man. Stop with the laser-focus, will ya? I don't even think he noticed you," Lip said.

Ian scowled, and lifted his soda water to his lips. It was surprisingly good with a squeeze of lemon, but he would have preferred something stronger just now if he could have had it with the meds. Lip was snapping his fingers and Ian huffed out an exasperated breath and turned towards him, finally looking away from Mickey. "What's he doing here?"

"Jesus, Ian. This is the Alibi. Mickey practically lives here."

Ian hadn't been referring to Mickey. Not really. He'd seen Mickey probably a hundred times since he'd gotten out of jail. _His_ presence wasn't what had Ian upset. Mickey was with a group of guys. Younger than Ian, probably. Mickey was going to community college now, so they were probably just working on a project or something. It wasn't at all suspicious that Mickey was smiling _that smile_ at them like they were the best thing he'd ever seen. And the guy who kept on putting his hands on Mickey, who'd had his arm around Mickey's shoulder? Yeah, he _definitely_ wasn't a boyfriend.

Probably.

Ian didn't usually indulge himself in denial, these days. It hadn't worked out so well for him in the past. Now he had his feet firmly planted on the ground. He took his meds, he had his boring-ass day job, he was too scared of overtaxing his brain by going back to school, and he was too scared to ask a guy out. Too scared to accept when a guy asked _him_ out. Maybe he'd hoped…but then that fucker kept on putting his hands on Mickey.

For fuck's sake.

"Jesus, Gallagher, why you staring at me like you want to murder me? What the fuck I do now?" Mickey asked.

"What the fuck do you think?" Ian said.

"I don't know. You're always fuckin' mad at me for somethin'. It's hard to keep track," Mickey said.

He was leaning against the bar, his face level with Ian's, and there wasn't a part of him that wasn't glowing with happy drunkenness. He really seemed to be having fun. More fun then he'd had with Ian in a long time. But he wasn't being mean about it. It was weird how not mean Mickey had been about the whole thing. The breakup, the prison stuff…he'd always said he an Ian were cool. Something about that had always bothered Ian. How could you go from what they'd had to friends without any bitterness? It was weird.

"Friends from college?" Lip asked.

Jesus, things really must be tense if Lip was actually trying to keep the peace instead of provoking everyone for his own amusement like usual.

Mickey glanced at him and sort of half-smiled, but he was looking into Ian's eyes when he answered. "Yeah. They're nice guys. Who knew I had it in me to make actual friends, right?"

"Who's the one who—" Ian found he couldn't finish. He couldn't say the words. He didn't want to know.

Mickey gave him that appraising, sexy onceover that had always made Ian crazy. That half-aggressive, half-playful thing. That coquettishness of a French dancing girl crossed with the toughness of a street thug thing that hadn't existed until Mickey did it. That weird confidence and flirty need that spoke directly to every kink Ian could ever imagine having. "You jealous, Ian? Because I'm right here. I've been out of jail for a while, and I've never even pretended to want anyone but you."

"So you're not…with him?" Ian asked feebly.

"You don't get to ask that, Ian," Mickey said. He was still looking at Ian like he wanted to gobble him up, but his words were like an ice-bucket challenge Ian hadn't agreed to. "Once we were together, once we were a couple, I never cheated on you once until I found out being faithful wasn't exactly your thing. You fucked like, everyone you saw. And then you dumped me. So you don't get to act all huffy about me banging some guy a year later just because you see me happy and moving on and you're jealous. You don't fucking want me, Ian. Remember?"

"I didn't break up with you because I didn't want you," Ian said.

"Jesus, we're actually going to do this, here, now?" Lip finally said. "This feels like a Mexican soap opera. Do I have to be here for this? I feel like I already know way more about this crazy love affair than anyone should."

"Shut the fuck up, man. It was just getting good," Kev said from behind the bar.

Mickey gave Ian a half-smile, and Ian was kind of floored that his ex was okay with the people at the bar, his bar, hearing about this stuff. Mickey's openness about everything still surprised Ian sometimes, although he wasn't sure why. Mickey had never been shy or ashamed, just really, really scared. Ian hadn't had much sympathy for him about that, but he probably would have had a bit if he hadn't been a selfish-ass teenager with a mental disorder.

"Ian, look, I'm pretty sure you don't even want me back. You just want me to be miserable, right? Like, die for love of you or something. Drink myself to death over you like Frank pretended to want to do over Monica. But guess what? I'm not a self-destructive prick. I got a kid who needs me. My piece of shit brothers need me, and Mandy, well, one of these days she's going to need me and I'm going to be there for her. I'm going to have a legit job, and I'm going to take care of myself and everyone else who I love—you know, if they'll let me. And if you want in on all of this," Mickey paused and gestured to his head and body, his expression slightly droll, then continued, "Then you fuckin' know where I live. But don't come around here and glare at me like I pissed in your cereal. I was a good fuckin' boyfriend, and you dumped me. You don't get to act all injured like I'm the bad guy for continuing to live my lame-ass life after you got done with me."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Lip said, his eyes lazy and his voice disinterested. Kev nodded wisely but Ian was pretty sure he didn't even know what Lip meant. Ian was pretty sure Lip didn't even know what he meant.

"Were you even sad?" Ian asked. "You didn't even—you were just fine. You still want to hang out with me like breaking up doesn't even matter. I know it's been a year but I'm still not over you. It goddamned _hurts_ me to see you. Why are you just walking around like you don't give a shit?"

"Maybe you think real love is screaming and fist-fighting and losing each other and makeup sex and hurting so bad it feels like the sky is falling. Maybe that's how your fucked-up parents trained you to think love worked, but that shit's just stupid. I just wanted to be with you, man. And now I just want you to be happy. You're the best friend I ever had, Ian, and I want to be near you. If the only way I get to see you is as your friend, Imma be your friend. I'd jump in front of a bullet for you, and I'd kill and bury anyone you asked me to in an unmarked grave down by the lake, but my life didn't fuckin' end when you dumped me. I'm a survivor, you know? I can take it. I could take it when you left me, I could take it when you got sick, I could take it when you wouldn't stop punishing me for all the stupid shit I did when we first hooked up for years afterward—I deserved that shit, don't pretend I didn't—and I can take losing you. I don't _need_ you," Mickey said. He gave Ian a sly look. "I do _want_ you, though. I always will. You're fuckin' it for me, man. I don't know much, but I do know that. I don't play games. That dude, well, I guess you could say this was almost a date. But I wouldn't look at him again if you wanted me. I wouldn't look at anyone but you ever again if you really wanted me."

"You must be really drunk," Ian said, trying to stall for time. He hadn't expected Mickey to tell him all this shit. He hadn't expected him to say anything more than 'fuck off', really.

"Not really though," Mickey said. He finally picked up the pitcher of beer he'd come over for and touched Ian's arm gently, giving him a concerned look. "You okay? You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

"I'm good," Ian said.

But Mickey was right, there was something weird going on with his heart. It was racing with nerves, with the certain knowledge he was going to say something wrong and Mickey would take it all back. It was that certainty more than anything that kept him from saying anything in reply.

"You guys have a good night," Mickey said, walking back to his friends.

"You just going to let him go?" Lip asked incredulously.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I can see the attraction. Mickey's kind of a catch," Kev said.

Ian wasn't listening to Kev. He was thinking about Lip's question. He smiled and took a sip of his soda water. "Don't worry, Lip. I know where he lives."


End file.
